As You Wish
by Langus
Summary: A series of Once Upon a Time inspired one-shots and drabbles. Mostly Captain Swan. Ratings will vary. May contain spoilers.
1. A Little Advice

_A Little Advice_

A day after their arrival in Storybrooke, Charming appeared at the dock without Mary Margaret.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Hook asked, though he was fairly certain he knew why the Prince had decided to pay him a visit.

"I thought we could talk," he said as he climbed aboard the Jolly Roger. "About Emma."

Charming gave him a look that implied he wouldn't be leaving before he said whatever it was he'd come to say, so Hook reluctantly gestured for him to take a seat.

"If you're here to tell me to stay away from Emma…"

He defiantly rested a hand on the handle of his sword and leaned back against the solid wood mast of his ship. He was ready for a fight – shoulders rigid, jaw clenched…

Charming held up a hand and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"That's not why I'm here."

His hand fell away from his sword and his brows shot up in an uncharacteristic look of surprise. If the Prince wasn't there to tell him to stay away from his precious daughter, then what the hell was he doing on his ship?

"I've seen you with Emma," Charming explained, slowly rubbing his hands together in front of him. "I know you care for her."

"I do," he answered simply.

There was no denying it at this point. Everyone had heard his confession in the Echo Cave, a confession he never would have breathed a word of, and certainly not then, had he been given the choice. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Charming appeared pleased by his tenacity.

"Emma is very important to Mary Margaret and I," he continued, glancing out towards the sea. "We only want what's best for her, and for our grandson."

"Is this the part where you ask me to do the honourable thing and leave, Dave?"

He tried to keep the rancour out of his tone, but it bled through anyhow. He damn well knew he wasn't good enough for Emma. He didn't need bloody Prince Charming to come and tell him that.

The Prince sighed softly and fixed him with a weary look, "No. This is where I ask you to do the honourable thing and stay."

For a moment he said nothing because his brain was too busy trying to comprehend the Prince's words. In the end what tumbled out was an astonished, "I'm sorry?"

Charming rose to his feet and paced back and forth across the deck, his gait even and self-assured.

"Emma likes to play her cards close to her chest. She doesn't trust people easily and she doesn't let down her walls."

Hook nodded in agreement. He'd seen that side of Emma for himself. It'd taken him a damn long time to convince her to trust him, to let him in just a little. It was the challenge that'd first attracted him to her, but it was the woman he'd discovered behind those walls that'd made him stay. She was a fascinating creature – full of spirit and light and completely unaware of her own strength.

"I watched you two together while we were in Neverland. She's different with you, Jones. Now I won't pretend to understand my daughter's heart because I don't think any father's supposed to, but the fact that she's chosen to let you into her life means something to Mary Margaret and I. It's not the sort of decision Emma makes lightly."

Aye, he knew that too. She'd shut him down countless times, but he'd somehow managed to prove himself to her. Slowly, with an aching wariness, she'd begun to trust him bit by bit. He'd endeavoured never to disappoint her, never to let her down. He fantasized that perhaps in time he would come to mean something to her as well.

"You're good for her, Jones," Charming said with certainty. "Whether she's ready to admit it or not, Emma needs you right now and I think you need her too. Whatever happens in the next few days, we'd like to ask you to stay."

Hook rubbed his hands through his dark hair until the ends stood up in perfect disarray. He'd never expected Charming of all people to show up on his boat and ask him to stay in Storybrooke. He'd hoped it would be Emma. He still did. Her absence troubled him, but he chose to interpret Charming's appearance as a good sign. Then again, perhaps it was just the Prince's insufferable optimism finally rubbing off on him.

"Have you spoken with her then?" he asked softly, not entirely sure he wanted an answer.

"Only a little. She's been preoccupied with Henry, and with Neal."

The Prince's expression soured at the mention of Henry's father. Hook lifted a curious brow but didn't press the issue. Whatever Emma's issue with Neal, it was hers to work out or settle. He wouldn't thrust himself into the middle of it like he had on Neverland. He'd promised to stay out of it, and he would, but knowing that Emma was spending time with Baelfire while he sat alone on his boat didn't sit well.

"It will be Emma's choice," he explained to Charming with a defeated sigh. "I will promise to wait, but if she asks me to leave…"

_If she chooses Neal…_

Charming commiserated with a nod, understanding his unspoken words.

He couldn't envision leaving Emma behind in Storybrooke, but in the end he might not have a choice. The thought of it formed an ache in his chest that felt remarkably like having Regina dig out your heart. If Emma asked him to go he would abide by her wishes, but it would be the hardest thing he'd done in 300 years.

"I understand," Charming promised with a firm nod and clapped his shoulder. "I know this can't be easy, but Mary Margaret and I, well, if you ever need anything you know where to find us. We'll do whatever we can to help."

He nodded, uncertain how to deal with Charming's encouraging and disarmingly genuine smile and the warm, friendly hand gently shaking his shoulder. Here was the sort of man he might have become had things turned out differently. The Prince was virtuous, self-assured, and confident in his beliefs. He never wavered from his moral code, which defined him as a man of honour, a man worth aspiring to. No one would ever aspire to be like Captain Hook, he knew that, but perhaps he hadn't failed entirely if a man like Charming could look him in the eye and tell him he was a good for his only daughter.

Truth was, even without Charming's speech he would have stayed as long as it took for Emma to return and face him. He couldn't leave without hearing it from her lips, whatever her choice might be. Still, he shook Charming's hand when it was offered and flashed a smile of his own.

"I appreciate you coming," he said, surprised to find that his words were genuine.

They might've clashed at first but he and the Prince seemed to have reached a certain understanding. There was a lot of Liam in Charming and perhaps that's why he welcomed the opportunity to make a new friend. Or perhaps it was because Emma was so very much like her father that speaking with him reminded him of her. In either case, he felt no qualms about inviting the Prince to join him should he ever feel the need to sample his stores of rum.

Charming laughed good-naturedly and shook his head, insisting that he'd had more than enough rum to last a lifetime. As he headed for the ladder, the Prince stopped and turned back to wish him 'good luck' and then climbed down the side of the ship.

Hook stared after the spot a good long while, listening to the sure gait of Charming's boots until they were swallowed up by the pier. Of all the people to visit his ship and ask him to stay, he'd never imagined it would be him.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Just a little drabble I cooked up on the plane back from New York. I originally wanted to include this as part of my follow up to "Partner's In Crime" but decided to cut it out in favour of more...sensual scenes. I guess you could see this as part 2 of 3? I'd love to hear what you guys think!


	2. Until Then

_Until Then_

It wouldn't be long now. The curse was descending on Storybrooke and there was nothing – _nothing_ – any of them could to do stop it. Most of them had gathered in the square, determined that if they were going to die it would be together. Henry's soft hair slips beneath her fingers as she pulls him against her.

The others are a mess - some crying, some panicking, and some, like her, contemplative and silent. Across the crowd she sees him, soulful blue eyes fixed on her with a look that was torn between apology and desire. Her lips press together in a grim smile and for a moment, just a moment, she lets him see how terrified she is.

He wastes no time crossing through the group to her side. Without a word he puts his arms around her and holds her, offering the comforting shoulder she so desperately needs. Eyes closed she breathes him in, committing to memory the mingled scents of leather and sea salt that cling to his skin. She would miss him.

When he pulls away he looks at her, just looks at her, and in his eyes is the answer to every question and doubt she's ever had about him. How cruel that the very moment she realizes she can't live without him, it will be the last they ever share.

"I hope this wasn't the 'fun' you were talking about," she remarks dryly in an effort to ease the tension.

An amused smile flirts with his lips, "Well, it's not exactly what I had in mind. I'd picture more of a wine and dinner sort of deal, perhaps followed by a starlit cruise through the harbour aboard my ship."

The earnest sincerity in his tone makes her heart feel as if it's suddenly grown two sizes in her chest.

"I've missed having you around," she admits with a sad smile.

"Aye, I know the feeling. I'm no good without you, Swan."

It feels strange to be wanted, to know that she's been missed. For the briefest moment old doubts surface but they are quickly dispelled by the tender expression he wears as his eyes flit over her features. She believes him because he's never lied to her and he has no idea how much that means to her.

"It's here! We're surrounded on all sides!"

Grumpy's frantic shouts steal the moment and their heads snap in unison in the direction of the dwarf.

"It'll be alright, love," he promises, seeing her horror struck expression.

"You should get out of here," she urges, her eyes flicking worriedly to the cursed cloud closing in.

He shakes his head, jaw set determinedly. "Why would I do that when everyone I care about is right here?"

Hook quietly slips his fingers through hers, offering her hand a reassuring squeeze. With that singular gesture she realizes that he's not expecting her to be the Saviour or waiting for her to enact some unknown counter spell to save them all. He's here because even when facing the threat of the endless unknown, where he most wants to be is at her side. She's never had someone so thoroughly choose _her,_ that when she realizes that that's exactly what he's done words escape her and tears blur her vision.

The terrified shrieks of the others fill their ears and their eyes meet one last time. Exchanged is every word, every sentiment and vow that they will never have the opportunity to say. The reassuring warmth of his hand in hers lends her strength as the curse descends and she knows in that moment that they will meet again.

_Until then, my love. _

_Until then._

* * *

Author's Note: Inspired by THE LOOK shared between Hook and Emma in the promo for the winter break episode. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Girl On Fire

_Girl On Fire_

They shouldn't have been able to overpower her that easily, but they had. One of the Lost Boys grabbed her roughly by the arm, his small fingers biting into her skin, and tossed her into the hold below deck. She hit the floor at an awkward angle sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting through her hip.

"Let's see you try and be the Saviour now!" the boys jeered then slammed the heavy iron grate shut. Emma slowly picked herself up off the floor and glowered at the ring of grubby faces leering down at her.

"Where's Henry?" she demanded, doing her best to sound authoritative. "Where's my son?"

The Lost Boys hooted and laughed, then slammed the wooden trap door shut plunging her into darkness.

"Damn it," she swore, turning in a slow circle. The hold was pitch black, without so much as a glimmer of sunlight peeking through to guide her. She'd never been afraid of the dark before, but this was different. This dark was impenetrable and alive. It moved and breathed and crept in on her from all sides. She pressed her palms against her eyes and focused on the raspy sound of her own breaths.

This wasn't happening. She was absolutely not having a panic attack. Hook's ship hadn't been commandeered by Pan's Lost Boys and Henry's life wasn't in danger. Her rapid heartbeat stuttered at the thought of Henry. He was going to be okay. He had to be okay!

Emma exhaled a weighted breath and lowered her hands. Henry wasn't going to be rescued if she wasted time being afraid. Right. Time to put her adrenaline to better use and find a way out. Maybe there was a door, or something she could stand on to reach the grate.

With her hands out, she shuffled step by careful step towards the nearest wall. Her foot connected with something solid and she froze. Every hair on her neck stood on end as she carefully slid her foot forward again. It met resistance and out of the darkness came a muffled groan. She lowered herself to her knees and felt around for the unfortunate figure trapped down here with her.

Her fingers brushed over something rough - a sleeve. She followed the arm up and across to a torso. Whoever it was was on their back, their chest rising and falling in even breaths.

"Hey," she whispered, without entirely understanding why she was whispering. She prodded at the chest beneath her fingers, gently shaking whoever it was awake. Another pained groan sounded in the dark and a hand wrapped around hers.

"Christ, that hurts."

That voice! "Hook? What are you doing here?" she demanded, stunned to discover that the Lost Boys had bested him as well.

"I gather "here" is the hold of my ship?" He shifted as though to sit up and then thought better of it and lay back. "Afraid my memory's a bit foggy on the matter, love. The better question is why you're here. I'd like to tell myself that it's out of concern for my well being, but somehow I don't think that's the case."

"I was looking for Henry," she lied, thankful for the darkness that hid her tell-tale blush.

She hadn't known Henry was in trouble until after. She'd gone looking for him, for Hook, to talk, to share her concerns about the changes she'd noticed in her son. If anyone would listen to her crazy theory it would be him. He never seemed to doubt her. Even when the challenges seemed impossible he was there with a reassuring word, ready to defend her against criticism and self-doubt. And then there was the fact that she'd missed him - missed the sound of his voice and his flirtatious looks and that teasing tone he only used with her.

"What do you remember?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," he drawled, his voice rough. "I left Granny's to return to the Jolly Roger for the night and the next thing I know I'm waking up in the hold next to a beautiful woman."

She can hear the smile in his words and rolls her eyes. Even in a hostage scenario he can't seem to resist. Gripping his hand, she pulls and helps him sit upright. He's in pain, she can hear it in his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn't speak a word of protest.

"The question now is how do we get out of here?"

"It won't be easy. The only way out is the way we came in."

"So we'll need to find some crates or something to stand on. Got anything like that down here?"

Hook scratched thoughtfully at his jaw, the scrape of his fingernails against the stubble sounding overloud in the dark.

"I just might. Care to lend a hand, Saviour?"

After a bit of fumbling she found his hand in the dark and tugged him to his feet. He groaned softly and staggered, clutching at his ribs. She reached out to steady him, her hands slipping inadvertently around his waist.

"Thanks, love."

The warmth of his breath tickled her cheek and his arm wound lightly around her. The weight of it pressed into the small of her back was a source of comfort. She wasn't alone. She hadn't been alone since the moment he'd walked into her life.

Shielded by the dark, she closed her eyes and subtly breathed him in. The scent of leather and rum that clung to him had offended her at first, but not now. Recognition and relief spread through her like a warm shot of brandy. He was here to help and they would succeed, because when had they ever failed while working together?

"Don't mention it," she replied, her voice rougher than she would've liked, and reluctantly drew back. They didn't have time for pleasantries. They needed to focus on escaping the hold and finding Henry. The rest would have to wait until after.

"This way," Hook instructed, the lilt in his tone deceptively cheery. Keeping a light hold on her hand, he pulled her through the dark and deeper into the hold.

"How do you do that?"

"What's 'that', love?"

"Move around down here without missing a step! I can't see a thing."

"Years of practice," he replied simply. "I know every nook and cranny of this ship like the back of my hand. Ah, here we are."

He stopped suddenly and she drew up alongside him, her eyes searching the impenetrable dark for whatever it was he'd found.

"What is it?"

"Empty casks."

"Let me guess - rum?"

"I can't get anything past you," he teased, offering her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "I'm not certain they'll be tall enough, but it's worth a shot."

Working together, they managed to roll two empty rum casks across the floor to where Hook indicated and set them upright. Using his hand for support, she stepped on top of the barrels and reached up towards the ceiling. When her hands met only empty air she frowned and stretched up onto her tip toes, frantically waving them back and forth in the hopes of making contact with something that might give them hope.

"Damn it," she swore, slapping her hands against her thighs in defeat. "It's not high enough."

She jumped off the cask and exhaled a sharp, frustrated sigh. "Now what?"

"In situations like these, I find rum to be an excellent balm. Care for a drink?"

With a creak of leather and a pop of a cork the faint smell of rum filled the air between them.

"Really?" she said dryly.

"Come on, Swan. A little rum never hurt anyone," he goaded and with a quiet swish pulled a sip from his bottle.

"Henry could be in trouble."

"Aye, but there's not much we can do about it from down here. Conserve your strength, love. You'll need it when the fighting begins."

Emma expelled a long suffering sigh and reached for the rum. The scent of it was potent enough that it wasn't difficult to find. She took a long sip and then another, relishing in the burn as the alcohol slid down her throat.

"You really think there'll be a fight?" she wondered.

"Do you really think your parents will let you go without one?"

An amused 'hm' sounded in the back of her throat and she pressed the bottle of rum against his chest.

"Point taken. Thanks for the drink."

"Any time."

The next several hours crept past, the passage of time made irrelevant by the impenetrable dark. Mere moments felt like hours, stretched long and tenuous. The soft lapping of the waves against the hull counted out the seconds. From what Emma could tell, they had yet to cast off from Storybrooke and that was enough to give her hope. The longer Pan lingered, the better chance the others would have of taking back the ship.

Hook, to his credit, made the agonizing wait for rescue far more tolerable than it would have been otherwise. They'd spent the last several hours sipping on rum and exchanging stories about the various troubles they'd gotten themselves into. With 300 years beneath his belt, he had no shortage of tales to share and after a while she found herself content to listen. The sound of his voice eased her worry over Henry and made her feel safe. They may be prisoners, but she didn't feel like one. Not here, not with him.

"Why'd you become a pirate?"

The question had been rolling around in her mind for some while. She'd seen enough of his character to know that he hadn't always been a villain. Just like she hadn't always been a convicted felon. People had reasons for doing the things they did and there was more to his story. A bottle of rum in and she'd finally amassed the courage to ask.

"You mean instead of being an _honest_ sailor?" he drawled with a sarcastic chuckle. "The only thing that makes me different from them is that I am my own master. This ship, my men, we go where the winds take us."

When she didn't respond, he breathed a heavy sigh. His next words were soft, his tone filled with old pain.

"My brother Liam died because our king sent us on a mission to Neverland to collect dreamshade. He lied, telling us it was a magic cure when in fact he intended to use its poison to destroy our enemies. I thought our king was a man of honour, a man of integrity, but he was neither. I couldn't continue fighting for a man like that."

"And that's when you decided to become a pirate," she finished with an understanding nod. "I guess the 'piracy' part was payback?"

"More of an unfortunate necessity, I'm afraid, but after a while we did it for the thrill. Stealing gives quite the rush when done successfully."

She lifted a brow and took a quiet sip of her rum. If there was one thing she understood all too well, it was the rationalization that went with stealing from others. _I need this. It's only a little. They can afford it._ Theft was wrong, right up until you found yourself with nothing and no other way to survive.

"What - no supercilious judgement from you, Swan? I'm disappointed."

A sad smile touched her lips and she set her empty bottle of rum against the floor. "Eleven years ago I was sent to prison for stealing a watch. I spent the year before that living in a stolen car and taking what I could to survive. I've done my share of bad things, Hook. So no, I'm not going to pass judgement."

His boot shifted against the floor and he drew his knee into his chest. "You've not had an easy life, Emma, but things will get better."

"I'm the Saviour, remember?" she replied with a sardonic laugh. "I don't have the luxury of days off."

"Then perhaps you'll have to settle for moments."

Before she could think of another sarcastic retort his lips were on hers, his touch warm, soft and inviting. She let out a muffled squeak of surprise and jerked her head back, smacking it against the wooden cask she was sitting against.

"You all right there, Swan?"

The smooth sound of his amused chuckle reverberated between them. Emma glared in his general direction and rubbed the sore spot at the back of her head. She didn't know why she'd reacted like that. His kiss had felt nice and it certainly wasn't unwelcome, but it'd caught her completely off guard. She wanted to reach out and pull him back, but the fear of fumbling awkwardly for him in the dark kept her hands on her thighs.

"Sorry, yeah. I just bumped my head," she replied, sounding sufficiently annoyed.

"Shall I kiss it better?"

She could hear the smile behind his words and felt an identical one slowly creep across her lips.

"It only seems fair."

He shifted closer until his shoulder and thigh brushed against hers. She took in a breath and waited.

…And nothing.

Emma opened her eyes, seeing only darkness, and turned her face towards his. What was he waiting for? Then she felt it – the faint touch of his fingers on her arm, the tips lightly brushing across her skin. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she exhaled the breath she'd been holding. His fingers caressed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist and then curled around her palm, lifting it to his waiting mouth. The touch of his lips was brief but enough to send a jolt of awareness shooting up her arm.

"Satisfied?" he enquired, his lips hovering over the skin of her wrist.

"That's all you got?" she replied, her voice hoarse. How was it this easy for him to unravel her? A single kiss and she felt like a nervous teenager again, complete with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

Hook's hand slid up her arm and then across her shoulder, pushing her hair back. She closed her eyes and suppressed a shiver of delight at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. His lips skimmed down her neck and pressed a kiss into the hollow of her shoulder. She was aware of every subtle movement, every breath and gasp that escaped her throat. She'd never felt so aware of another's touch, never craved it like she did with his.

Hook placed another kiss just beneath her jaw, his lips lingering overlong before pulling away.

"And now?"

She swallowed and released a breathy exhale. "Better."

"That's all?"

Encouraged by her silence he tried again. With his good hand he cupped her chin and she heard the quiet creak of his leather jacket as he leaned in. His lips followed the line of her cheek, placing soft, featherlight kisses everywhere they touched. He kissed her forehead next, then the tip of her nose. She could smell the rum on his breath as his lips ghosted over hers and leaned in, seeking out his touch. Her head was spinning and she grabbed hold of his jacket to steady herself. With a teasing chuckle, he pulled away and trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat.

"Hook," she whined as her patience wore thin. Damn him for turning her into a needy, quivering mess. She needed the feel of his lips on hers almost as desperately as she needed air to survive. It was irrational and silly, but that was what he did to her. He made her feel things she'd never felt before – lust, need, uncontrollable want…

"Kiss me," she demanded with a tug on his collar.

"As you wish."

Without hesitation his mouth crashed against hers and a mutual groan of satisfaction was torn from each of them. Spurred by an insatiable hunger, she sucked in a sharp breath and pushed back, her lips moving over his – nipping and nibbling and sucking – encouraged by the eager noises that sounded in the back of his throat.

His hand wound through her hair to pull her closer and she opened her mouth under his, inviting him in with a salacious sweep of her tongue. A pleased grunt escaped her as she tasted him for the first time since Neverland. Now, as then, the rum clung to his lips in a mixture of sweetness and spice that was intoxicating entirely on its own. She tugged his bottom lip into her mouth and gently suckled on it in a rhythm reminiscent of other enjoyable activities.

Hook's guttural moan tore through the dark and his fingers suddenly tightened in her hair, sending a shot of liquid heat rushing through her veins. How had she ever survived without this? Kissing him felt as natural as breathing. They fit together perfectly, their bodies mimicking one another even in the dark as though they'd been designed to fit together all along.

There would be no going back. The first time she was able to brush it off as a spur of the moment decision, a little bit of fun, but this was something else entirely. There was nothing playful about the way she'd clawed her hands into the collar of his jacket or scraped her fingernails across the back of his neck. This was something raw, something carnal, that wouldn't be satisfied with only a kiss.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Hook pulled back. His breaths were ragged and uneven as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"And now?" His voice was hoarse with unspent passion and he swallowed thickly to try and clear it.

She chuckled and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. "Wouldn't you know, the pain's gone."

"That so," he replied and breathed a soft sigh. "Well if you're ever in need of my services again, Swan, you know where to find me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

A loud thump overhead was followed by several others and the dull roar of battle cries could be heard over the sound of the waves against the hull.

"Sounds like the others have arrived," Hook observed, releasing his hold on her. "What do you say, Swan? Are you ready to fight?"

His hand wrapped around hers and held tight they helped each other to their feet. They were standing close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating off of him. If she tilted her chin up ever so slightly his lips would be there, ready to devour her all over again. She took one last secretive moment to breathe him in and then stepped back. There would be time for that later, but right now she needed to focus on her son and helping the others take back the ship.

"I'm ready."

"I still think you'd make a hell of a pirate."

"Thanks. I'll take that into consideration," she teased, surprised by the smile that crept across her mouth. It'd been years since she'd felt light like this, overwhelmed by a sort of unreserved giddy excitement. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the trap door covering the grate was suddenly flung open and Charming's voice called out to them.

"We're here!" Emma called back before turning to Hook.

In the dim shaft of light that now made its way into the hold, she could see just how dishevelled he appeared – hair mussed, lips swollen and eyes glassy with drink and lust. Judging by the amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth she didn't look much better. There would be little doubt what they'd been doing down there, but it no longer mattered. Matching unstoppable grins lit their faces and then Hook's hand was around hers, helping her climb atop the empty rum casks.

"This isn't over," she promised under her breath, her eyes daring to meet his deep cerulean gaze.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Swan," he replied with a look that was anything but innocent.

She grinned and uttered a determined "Good" then grabbed hold of the rope ladder David had lowered and climbed out of the hold.

As he watched her go, Hook pushed a hand through his hair and expelled a weighted sigh, absolutely certain that if survived the day he would never survive Emma Swan. He shook his head at the thought, a wide grin cutting across his features, and grabbed hold of the rope ladder. What they had was fire and magnetism and desire all rolled into a complicated, unlikely, little package, but there wasn't a single part of him that wanted it any other way.

_Author's Note: _Another one I typed out on my phone, this time during a bout with insomnia. What do you guys think? Like it? Hate it? Would love to hear your feedback :D


	4. Sunday Mornings

Fluff with a dash of fluff. Captain Swan reading in bed and (soon to be) Daddy!Killian. Enjoy :)

_Sunday Mornings_

Emma shifted her head, finding a comfortable spot in the hollow of Killian's shoulder. He leaned his cheek against her head, his fingers tracing light circles against the skin of her arm. His smooth baritone broke the silence, the sound comforting and familiar. It was Sunday, the one day of the week they shut out the world and enjoyed each other without interruption.

Most weeks they spent it just like this – lying in bed, reading to one another from his vast collection of well-read tomes. Today it was _Gulliver's Travels_, last week it'd been _Robinson Crusoe. _She'd made several attempts to shift his collection into the 21st century, but he had a stubborn love for the classics. The way he read them it was almost as though he were home again, in a time he understood and belonged to, and she couldn't begrudge him that. Emma smiled faintly and pressed a secret kiss against the naked skin of his shoulder as Killian read on.

How long had she waited and wanted and hoped for this to be her life? She had a family, a normal life, quiet Sunday mornings and a man who loved her unconditionally. In retrospect it all seemed worth it now – the losses, the heartaches, and the disappointments. She would do them all over again just to have this with him.

A small fist or foot bumped her from inside and she placed a hand over the spot, hoping to feel it again. The child within her stirred again seeming to stretch as though awaking from a long nap.

"Killian, look," she whispered excitedly, moving her hand so he could see the movement across her skin.

His voice halted and he watched, fascinated by the visible proof that his child – their child – grew within her. Just like that _Gulliver's Travels _was forgotten, the volume discarded carelessly in his lap.

"Incredible," he breathed, lightly drawing the blunt edge of his hook across the spot. An eager smile lifted his features when the child within responded with a kick and he pressed a kiss into her hair.

"You know, we haven't talked about a name," Emma ventured as her hand rubbed slow, soothing circles across her rounded belly.

"I was thinking that we might name the child Liam if it's a boy."

"Liam David Henry Jones. I like the sound of that."

She tilted her head up to exchange a warm smile with Hook and he placed a soft kiss against her forehead.

"And if it's a girl?" she wondered, settling back against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Perhaps Margaret, after your mother."

She nodded, liking the idea of honouring her mother that way. Mary Margaret hadn't been her mother long, but she'd proven herself to be more than deserving of the title time and again.

"What about your mother, Killian? What was her name?"

He swallowed thickly and exhaled a shaky breath. He'd never spoken about his parents before, she realized, and instantly regretted bringing it up. She looked up at him, worried that she'd ruined a perfectly pleasant moment with her question.

"Aye," he answered with a small smile, dispelling her worries with the soothing stroke of his hand on her hair. "Her name was Ann."

"Ann?"

"You sound surprised," he said with an amused lift of his brow.

"Well, you're Killian and your brother was Liam. I guess I always expected your mother's name would be something equally…unique."

"It is a rather simple name," he agreed, sounding slightly dejected. "Perhaps we should choose another."

"No," Emma said with certainty. "Ann is perfect. Margaret Ann Jones is a beautiful name."

Hook's lips lifted into a shaky smile. "Aye, that it is, Swan." He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. "That it is." Then he bowed his head and treated her to a tender, grateful kiss.


	5. Moments

_Moments_

He could pinpoint the moment it happened, the moment he realized that what he felt towards Emma Swan was more than a casual flirtation.

The pain was what woke him, a deep, searing ache that cut down the left side of his body. He opened his eyes and struggled to catch his breath, half expecting to find the Crocodile standing over him with his cane in hand ready to bludgeon him to death. Instead he saw her.

Emma Swan sat on the edge of his bed, eyeing him with a stern, disapproving eye. No one else was there. No one else cared if he lived or died, but she did. Whatever her reasons, she'd protected him from the Crocodile and he didn't know quite what to make of it.

What he did know was that the sight of her flooded his chest with a warm, foreign feeling – relief. He sucked in a shallow breath and winced as his ribs screamed in protest. Her brow furrowed with concern and he remembered, if only for a moment, what it felt like to have someone worry over you. It felt nice. It felt undeserved.

He attempted to reach for her and only belatedly realized that his hand was chained to the bed and with that the illusion shattered. She wasn't here because she cared; she was here to ensure he didn't harm anyone else and to get whatever information out of him that she needed. The truth burned in the back of his throat and he painfully swallowed it down.

When she asked him about Cora, he couldn't keep the rancour at bay. The taunting retort that left his lips was far from what he'd intended to say. Her expression hardened. He didn't like the way she looked at him now and for a moment, just a moment, he regretted what he'd done.


	6. Inked

"Killian, what's this?"

He roused slowly, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck. The arm he had draped around her tightened, gently pulling her against him.

"What's that, love?" he replied, his voice still heavy with sleep.

It wasn't the first time they'd found themselves in bed since his sudden appearance at her door, but it was the first time they'd taken things slow. After sharing dinner and a bottle of wine at a restaurant down the street, they'd walked back to her apartment arm in arm. Once inside, they'd explored each other with lips that tasted of bold French wine. They'd peeled the layers back slowly, one at a time, discarding them in the space between the door and her bed.

The wine had softened his reservations enough that when she'd put a questioning hand on the latch of his brace he'd given her a quiet nod. It was the first time he'd let her see him like that, with all the costumes and facades stripped away. She'd memorized every moment that followed, understanding the importance to them both.

She'd awoken to find his arm wrapped snugly around her waist. While listening to the soft, even sound of his breaths she'd traced her fingers across his skin. It was then that she'd noticed it, the mark she'd missed in the dark, a mark normally hidden beneath his brace. It was small and simple, the outline of a swan tattooed on the inside of his arm just above his wrist.

"This," she answered as her finger traced over the black ink.

He stiffened behind her and pulled his arm back. "Emma, I can explain..."

She turned over to face him and was surprised to see just how nervous he looked. His eyes avoided hers and he brushed a hand through his bed tousled hair.

"You have to understand love, I never imagined it would be possible to cross into this realm, to see you again..."

"Killian-" The name still felt strange on her tongue. For so long he'd been "Hook" to her and now he was "Killian" and she couldn't imagine calling him anything else. "I'm not upset, just a bit…surprised."

"You must know by now how I feel about you," he said sounding a bit incredulous.

"I do, I do," she reassured him while gently rubbing his leg. "It's just a big commitment is all…"

"So is an eternity without you."

Her expression shifted into a look of sympathy. Killian Jones had experienced two loves in his life and thought he'd lost them both. She glanced at the tattoo again, her eyes following its simple lines. It was small and understated and perfect. It'd never been meant for the eyes of others. It was his – theirs – a private homage to what they shared. Knowing that hers would be the only eyes to ever see it sent a shot of warmth blooming through her chest.

"It's beautiful," she said sincerely, lifting her eyes to his. "I love it."

With her arms draped loosely around his neck she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His hand lightly cupped the back of her head, holding her close until she broke away and touched her forehead to his.

"Thank you for finding me," she whispered, then kissed him again.

"And thank you for not kicking me between the legs when I came back a second time," he teased with a light chuckle.

She winced in sympathy and buried her face against his chest to hide the mortified red blush creeping up her neck. It would figure that her instinctive reaction to being kissed by a handsome man was to kick him in the balls.

"Sorry about that."

"Everything's still intact so no harm done, but I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me just the same."

He licked his lips and eyed her with a mischievous grin that was impossible to misinterpret.

"Perhaps I can think of something," she offered and rearranged herself until she was straddling his lap.

His hand and arm went automatically to her hips and he looked up at her, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. No one had ever looked at her the way he did, with such adoration and undisguised want. The realization that he accepted all of her, the good and the bad, without reservation momentarily stole her breath away.

She'd always thought of True Love as a myth, its mention often accompanied by a roll of her eyes or a snarky remark muttered under her breath. There was too much dark and cynicism in the world for love like that to be real. Being with him made her want to believe it could be possible, that True Love could exist in spite of all the darkness.

Her thumb brushed over the mark on his wrist and she exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe, just maybe…it did. With a soft smile she leaned forward and captured his lips in a lingering kiss.

* * *

_Author's Note: _For some reason I can only write fluff on my phone in the few minutes between going to bed and actually falling asleep. I hope you guys liked this one!


	7. Stormy Seas - rated M

**A/N: **This one's rated 'M'! Just your basic PWP.

_Stormy Seas_

The Jolly Roger pitched and groaned, sending them stumbling against the door. He hadn't planned on his evening turning out this way. When Emma arrived a short while earlier to partake in a celebratory tipple of rum, he'd never imagined they would find themselves trapped in his quarters at the mercy of a sudden winter storm. Waves lashed viciously at the hull, tossing his ship about like a toy. There would be no venturing above deck tonight. In the wake of these new developments, their tipple of rum had led to them sharing a bottle by candlelight across his table.

Emma had made the mistake of trying to leave, insisting the storm raging outside 'wasn't that bad'. She hadn't made it much further than the door, where they now found themselves glassy-eyed, flushed, and standing far too close together.

"Sounds bad out there." She tilted her head, listening to the howl of the wind just beyond the door.

With the next gust the ship pitched violently. He caught himself, just barely, with his hand braced against the door next to her head and his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers. Her hands wandered to the hem of his shirt and began tugging it out of his pants. He lifted a brow in silent approval and leaned in closer.

"Well, lass, it's plenty warm in here."

Her lips curled into an inviting smile as the last of his shirt came loose.

"Swan…"

His tone was soft and low, almost a warning, offering her one last chance to walk away before they reached the point where neither of them would be able to turn back. Emma responded by fisting the loose linen of his shirt and jerking hard, pulling him against her.

His mouth crashed against hers and she fell into the door with a soft grunt. The taste of the rum clung to her lips, leaving them sticky and sweet. He sampled them, then her, groaning as her tongue slid against his. With his good hand he pulled her leg up, hooking it around his waist and her fingers tunnelled into his dark hair.

The sound of his name, accompanied by a soft, broken moan, sent a rush of desire jetting down his spine and he pulled her away from the door. They somehow made their way to the bed, stumbling about his dimly lit cabin until they fell back onto the sheets. A faint whimper left her lips when he pulled away and he fixed her with a roguish grin.

"Patience, love," he urged as he unhooked the button of her pants and gently tugged them down over her hips.

"I've never been good with patience."

He vowed that it would be worth the wait and her brow lifted in silent challenge. In that same moment he resolved not to stop until she was screaming his name. Most men in her world could boast a handful of years, perhaps even decades, of experience when it came to making love to a woman. He, on the other hand, had had centuries to perfect his technique.

She watched him from beneath hooded lashes, her teeth gently gnawing at her bottom lip. Dipping his head, he pressed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh. The skin there was as soft as silk and milky white. She inhaled sharply through her nose and he waited for her body to relax before kissing her again. He took his time, lavishing the skin of her thighs and hips with some much deserved attention.

When her hips began to buck and squirm beneath him he obliged by cutting away her underwear with the sharpened end of his hook. Her surprised gasp and furrowed brow told him he would need to answer for destroying her undergarments later. At the moment, however, she was far too distracted by his tongue.

She tasted sweet and savoury, like black cherry wine, and he couldn't halt the pleased grunt that sounded in the back of this throat. Her hands fisted the sheets as her hips bucked into his mouth. With a disapproving cluck of his tongue, he pushed them back down into the mattress and continued to taste her at the same excruciatingly slow pace. She moaned, tunnelling her fingers into his hair to try and position his head exactly where she most wanted it.

He chuckled at her expense then slowly, carefully, slid a finger inside of her. She was incredibly wet, practically dripping, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan at the thought of how good it would feel once the rest of him was inside of her. She must have had the same idea because with the addition of a second finger her hips rolled against his hand and an unabashed moan left her lips. He curled his fingers ever so slightly and her slick inner muscles tightened around him as he brought her closer and closer to the brink with each stroke.

When she'd become a whimpering, quivering mess and his name left her lips like a plea, he finally gave her what she so desperately wanted. The pace of his fingers quickened to match the needy pulse of her hips into his mouth and her breaths came heavy and fast, with barely an exhale that wasn't accompanied by a throaty moan.

Eager to bring her release, he swept his tongue over the small bundle of nerves that would be her undoing and listened with unabashed pride and delight as she exploded. Her body twitched and shuddered until he slipped his glistening fingers from inside of her and sucked them into his mouth. She tasted like heaven and looked practically angelic, spread out atop his bed with her chest heaving, cheeks flushed, and hair fanned out about her head.

"Doing all right there, love?" he teased, unable to keep a confident smirk off his lips.

She struggled to sit up and rested her weight on her elbows. Her eyes were half-closed, dark with lust, and she looked at him with an expression that was two parts awe and one part reluctant admiration.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"A pirate never tells his secrets," he replied, yanking his shirt over his head in one quick move. He tossed it atop a nearby trunk and crawled across the bed until his face hovered above hers.

"Did you enjoy yourself, love?"

She nodded and lifted her head to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips.

"I have a few tricks of my own," she assured him.

His mouth traced a careful path down her neck. "In that case, I hope you're in a sharing mood." He kissed her shoulder and gently palmed her breast, feeling the rounded peak of her nipple through her shirt.

Her hands did their own exploring, following the plains of his torso down to the curve of his lower back. A moment later, while his mouth traced the curved line of her collar bone, her hand slid between them and stroked him through his pants. It was enough to make his next movements lose coordination and he chuckled against the skin of her shoulder.

"Found a new toy have you?"

"Shut up," she said without any vehemence and wriggled out from under him. With a determined look she pushed him back against the mattress and straddled his hips.

"I should have known you'd like this position," he goaded her, reaching for her with his good hand. She shifted back and lower, until her mouth hovered over the loosened stays of his pants. The look in her eyes when they met his promised that she would be just as unmerciful in her oral exploration as he'd been.

He empathized with her a little when her mouth pressed a kiss to his hardened length through the leather and his hook scraped audibly against the wooden frame of his bed. Gods, he could already imagine it – the feeling of her hot mouth wrapped around him, her tongue stroking his shaft from base to tip – a jolt of pleasure shot down his spine and ended with a strong pulse that made him grow impossibly hard.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and flashed a wicked smile. With a lick of her lips, she lowered them to his waiting cock and kissed the tip. Her tongue darted out to tease him and then she opened her mouth and slipped the whole of him inside.

For a moment every part of him froze, half in surprise and half in stunned ecstasy. It wasn't until she moved her head, easing into a gentle rhythm, that he regained the use of his body. Embarrassingly, the most he could manage was a wanton moan before dropping his head back against the pillow. Her mouth was glorious, enveloping him in liquid head and stroking him with a constant, expletive inducing rhythm that soon had his hips bucking off the bed.

"Emma…" He clenched his eyes shut as her tongue exacted a brand of positively divine torture. Far sooner than he would have liked, he felt his body begin to tighten and knew that he wouldn't be able to take much more.

"I'm close," he managed, his tone almost frantic. She chuckled with him still in her mouth, the vibrations cascading down his length. He groaned, deep and guttural, and knew that there was no saving him now. His entire body was tuned to the movement of her mouth over him, tightening and pulsing in preparation for the release that would soon follow.

"Emma, I-"

He choked on the warning he'd been prepared to give as his hips bucked sharply off the bed. Surprising him even more, she moved her head lower until every last inch of his length disappeared into her mouth. The sight of it was enough to push him to the brink. A flick of her tongue and the gentle swallowing movement of her throat sent him tumbling head first over it.

With his face twisted into an exquisite grimace of pleasure, he poured himself down her throat, moaning pitifully each time she swallowed. She didn't stop until he collapsed heavily back against the pillow, his body twitching and his breaths ragged.

"That was…"

Words failed him completely. All he could do was wrap his arms heavily around her when she crawled across the bed towards him and express his gratitude with a languid kiss.

"Worth the wait?" she offered, snickering as she brushed a kiss over his flushed cheek.

Expelling a heavy breath, he nodded and his mouth widened into a satisfied grin. "Absolutely."


	8. One Last Night

_Author's Note: _After meeting the Dark One, Killian returns to the Jolly Roger to spend his last few hours with Milah.

One Last Night

His feet dragged up the familiar plank of the Jolly Roger, reaching the deck where they came to a halt with a soft scrape of leather against wood. Were it not for the crew plodding up the ramp behind him, he would have stood there all night. If he didn't take that last step, if he didn't have to go into his room and face her, then perhaps none of this would be real. He could pretend that it'd all been a dream, some vision brought on by fever and too much drink. The Dark One's high-pitched cackle sounded through his brain, reminding him that even in dreams there would be no escaping him. The Dark One would find him no matter where he tried to hide, leaving him with no choice but to stand up and face him.

The door to his cabin closed behind him with a soft click and he held his breath, his eyes going to the bed. She was sleeping with her back to him, her shoulder rising and falling with each breath. For a moment he simply stood there, absorbing the quiet tranquillity of the moment. He needed to remember this feeling. At dawn, when he faced the Dark One and most certainly his own death, he needed to remember that this was what he'd fought for. There were few things more worthy of dying for than this.

He removed his boots slowly, first one then the other, and set them against the wall. His jacket was shrugged off with a soft creak of leather and hung on its place near the door. His pants were next, pulled off and draped over the back of the chair, followed by his vest. By the time he'd made his way to the bed, only his shirt remained, hanging loose about his form. The cool night air licked at his legs, making him shiver as he pulled back the blanket and eased himself onto the bed behind her.

Heat emanated off of her, warming him to his very bones, and he let out a soft sigh as he put his arm around her and buried his face into the dark curls at her neck. In all the nights they'd spent together in this too-small bed, he'd never tired of the feel of her warm, soft body in his arms or scent of soap and sea water that clung to her hair. She'd brought him the closest he'd been to happiness since Liam's death. Every day they shared together made him feel more complete, as though she were filling in the pieces to a puzzle that had too long remained unmade.

She stirred, pulling in a deep breath as she stretched and turned in his arms.

"Morning, Captain Jones," she mumbled. Her eyes were still closed and her words were heavy with sleep. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips and he kissed her brow. She only called him 'Captain Jones' as a term of endearment in private moments like this. In front of the crew it was 'Captain' and when she was truly angry, 'Killian'. She'd only called him by his name once before, on an ill-fated night when he'd returned to the ship covered in blood after being stabbed at a bar brawl on Mediros. She'd called him nothing but 'Killian' for three days until she was certain he would survive.

If she knew what was to come, what he would have to do at dawn, she would call him by his name again. His only saving grace was that if those were the last words he was ever to hear from her lips he'd know without a shadow of a doubt that she loved him.

"Did the deal go through?" she asked quietly.

"Aye. All the wine sold and a few tankards of ale for our trouble."

"More than a few," she retorted with an amused chuckle.

"Aye," he replied and held her tighter as he kissed her naked shoulder.

She turned fully in his arms then, her large, dark eyes filled with worry.

"What is it?"

He shook his head and forced a smile. His fingers traced the side of her face as he committed the view to memory.

"I don't know what I would do if someone were to take you away," he replied, edging as close to the truth as he dared.

"Why do you think about such things? Hear me now - I will die aboard this ship before I ever leave your side."

"I fear that, too."

Milah heaved a soft sigh and stroked the back of her fingers across his cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, determined not to forget a single moment.

"My heart aches for you when you get like this. What demons are racing around in that brain of yours to steal away your happiness?"

He shook his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. When he opened his eyes she was studying him, her brow furrowed with concern. The truth rose up from his gut and pressed at the back of his throat. He could hear the words, feel the way they would on his tongue, but he could not bear to speak them. On this last night the only thing he wanted was one last unpolluted memory of her to take with him.

His lips brushed against hers, their touch uncertain. She wasn't the type to let him get away with avoiding her questions so easily, but just this once he prayed that she would. In these last few hours before what could be the dawn of his final day, he needed the comfort of her arms to distract him from the hell that was to follow. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to strategize or give apologies – just to feel and remember everything it was he loved about her right down to their very last kiss.

She lifted her head until her lips reached his, caressing them softly with a light touch. He sucked in a sharp breath and followed the line of her body with his hand until he was palming her breast through her thin nightgown. With a soft gasp she pulled away and he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, breathing her in as her fingers tunnelled into his hair. His mouth trailed a path of languid kisses up to the underside of her jaw and then her lips. His movements were unhurried, almost lazy. If this was to be the last time they would ever make love, he was determined to draw it out.

Milah shifted beneath him, her legs settling over his hips. He lifted his head and watched the array of emotions that flickered across her features as he entered her: happiness, pride, pleasure, satisfaction. He kissed the smile that twitched at the corner of her mouth and moved his hips, relishing in her quiet moan. Her body welcomed him, urging him to stay, and he quietly thanked the Dark One for providing him the mercy of this boon.

He covered her in warm, open-mouthed kisses, exploring her as if for the first time. She was hard and soft in all the right places, a creature that had been carved out by heaven itself to be his mate. He didn't want to think about the man he might have become had they not met. After Liam's death he'd closed off so many parts of himself, determined never to feel pain or loss like that again, but she'd changed all of that. In the safety of her arms, he'd opened himself up to love again. Without her he was certain his soul would have turned black, lost forever to the churning waters of the sea.

She gasped and tugged at his hair as he touched her in all the ways that she liked. The pain was a welcome reminder that the Dark One hadn't yet stolen his life from him. He was still here, still warm in her arms, where his heart would remain until all of this was over. He whispered her name against her lips before kissing them, and buried his hands deep in her dark hair.

His name tumbled from her lips then in a broken moan and she clung to him, her body shaking and shuddering, as she found her release. He pulled back to admire the view - Milah, his Milah, with her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, gazing up at him with a smile that was unmistakable.

"I love you," she whispered breathlessly before pulling him down for a kiss.

With her words fresh in his ear he buried his face against the side of her neck and gave in. Spasms shivered down his back as his hips stuttered and he emptied himself into her with a soft cry. Lacking the strength or will to move, he rested his head atop her chest while her fingers combed lightly through his hair.

There were a thousand things he should tell her and no end to the endearments she deserved to hear. The words stuck in his throat, fighting with one another for importance. In the end he said nothing, only tightened his arms around her to memorize the feel of her in them. This would be the last memory that he would take with him to his death – the absolute contentment that went with being inside of her and surrounded by her all at once. He would die with the taste of her on his lips, the scent of her clinging to his shirt and the lingering warmth of her body on his skin.

His lips found hers as the grey light of the predawn crept through their window. There wasn't much time, but perhaps just once more. His hand skimmed down her thigh and pulled her leg over his hip. He moved within her slowly, hips thrusting in a gentle rhythm as he gave her a questioning look. Something in his gaze must have revealed just how badly he needed this because her arms encircled his neck and gently pulled him down against her.

Fighting against the coming dawn, he took her again in their bed. He filled her with all the parts of himself he would never have the time to share. Each kiss was another endearment, each moan was gratitude expressed for being his. They reached oblivion together, bodies entwined in a lover's embrace. She fell asleep soon after and he kissed her softly on the brow and then on the lips, reluctant to let go. But let go he did.

With a heavy heart he resigned himself to his impending death and dressed in silence. When he was ready he paused with his hand on the door and turned his head for one last look. She was asleep, her body curled over his side of the bed as though searching for him. He swallowed hard and swiftly stepped out the door, knowing that to stay any longer would make it impossible for him to leave.

The dawn air was silent. A few of the crew had waited around to see him off. They removed their hats as he passed, giving silent nods of understanding. If he didn't return they knew what to do – take Milah and sail out of port as quickly as the winds would take them.

The sea air was heavy in his lungs as he strode down the plank to the docks that would lead him back into town. In a few short minutes this would all be over and Milah would be safe. He only hoped that someday she would find it in her heart to forgive him.


	9. King of the Castle

_Author's Note: _Inspired by a bit of spoiler speculation. Henry and Hook share a heart to heart at Henry's castle. 100% fluff. Enjoy!

_King of the Castle_

Hook stood back and inspected the tiny wooden structure.

"What is this place?" he asked, his brow lifting curiously.

"It's my castle," Henry answered as though it should have been entirely obvious. With a sure gait he marched up the wooden steps and made his way to the bridge.

"Oh, aye? Well, it's a castle fit for a Prince," Hook replied, not missing a beat.

Henry smiled a little and rearranged himself atop the bridge with his feet hanging over the edge. They dangled there, swinging lightly as he looked out over the ocean.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he said, turning his gaze on him.

Hook leaned an arm against the bridge's railing and nodded for the boy to go on. Henry hesitated, his eyes shifting between his features and the pebbles at their feet.

"Do you love my Mom?"

Hook's brows shot up and he expelled a breath. On some level he'd known they would have to have this conversation, he just hadn't expected it to be so soon. The boy's gaze was penetrating and speculative. Henry stared him straight in the eye and waited for his answer. Hook struggled for a moment, his mind swirling with all the possible ramifications of answering truthfully, and then decided to throw caution to the wind and do it anyway.

He lightly cleared his throat and answered sincerely, "That I do."

"I knew it!" Henry punched his fist in front of him and grinned excitedly. "The way you look at my mom is _totally_ different from how everyone else looks at her!"

"Ah, is it that obvious then?"

Hook flopped back against the railing and leaned his head against the wood. As his eyes stared out at the ocean, watching the waves lap gently at the shore, he wondered if it'd been as obvious to everyone else in town as it had the boy. And if that were true, was it obvious to Emma? They hadn't yet shared their feelings for one another in any sort of meaningful way. Somehow he doubted a forced confession in the Echo Caves counted as a true declaration of love. It's certainly not how he would have chosen to do it. Which begged the question, did Emma feel the same?

"So when're you gonna tell her?"

The boy's question drew him back into the present and he cast a sidelong glance at him.

"Don't you think that's a bit personal?"

Henry rolled his eyes with a snort. "Please. I know a lot more than everyone thinks. I have eyes and ears, you know."

In that moment the boy reminded him so much of Emma that he couldn't help but smile.

"All I'm saying is that if you don't tell her soon she'll think you're not interested in her. "

Hook eyed the boy speculatively, very aware that there were three sides to this equation. Emma and her affections weren't the only ones he needed to consider.

"And how do you feel about all of this?"

The boy's mouth opened and he thumbed at the zipper of his jacket.

"I want my Mom to be happy," he said with a lift of his shoulders.

"You are more than enough to make your mother happy, lad," Hook reassured him.

"I know, it's just… She looks different when she talks to you. She smiles a lot. It's weird. Not my Mom smiling, because she does that all the time, but the way she smiles around you. It's… She doesn't look at other people like that."

Hook's brows shot up and he felt his heart swell at the prospect that his affections for Emma might not be entirely one sided. Pulling in a deep breath, he leaned down to meet the boy's eye.

"So I have your consent then? To confess my feelings to the Lady Swan?"

Henry stifled a giggle and then held up one finger, waving it in front of his face.

"On one condition."

"Name your price."

"Well, I've always wanted to captain a pirate ship…"

Hook laughed out loud and tousled the boy's hair. The move felt entirely natural but he realized as he drew his hand back that it was the first touch they'd ever shared. He inspected the boy's face for any sign that he'd crossed some invisible boundary, but Henry's lips lifted into a good-natured smile and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Well, then, Captain," he offered with a deep bow, "shall we head to your ship? The tides are good and the winds are strong."

Henry grinned and jumped down from the bridge.

"Oh and one more thing," he added, suddenly looking very serious. "Buttercups."

Hook's face screwed up with confusion. "Buttercups?"

"Yeah. They're her favourite flower!"

A warm smile lifted his features and Hook bowed again, this time in gratitude.

"I will keep that in mind," he promised, clapping his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thank you, Henry."

The boy shrugged as if it were nothing at all and took off in the direction of the path that would lead them to the docks, his feet skidding over the pebbles.

"Come on!" he shouted, sparing a brief glance back over his shoulder. "The seas await, landlubber!"

A chuckle left Hook's lips and he dutifully followed with a shake of his head. He would have to have a serious talk with the boy once all was said and done. Pirates absolutely did not speak in such a manner. Whatever had Emma been teaching the boy?


End file.
